Long Aberrations Poems
Long Aberrations Poems. Below are the most popular long Aberrations by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Aberrations poems by poem length and keyword.
she had attempted to colour in outside of the box
now the silver lining dangled from a broken necklace
suffocated her aspirations oozed discontent and sorrow
the shine had come off and no amount of polish would
erase smudges and impurity nor restore a once lucid soul
reflections tore at her heart and strangled in darkness
precious metal now a neck tie of craving for balance
reprieve from discomfort aberrations and delusions
pendant to be relieved from reversed penchant of life
at first she assigned emotions to one crazy error of judgement
distortion of passion disillusionment or mere false appraisal
yet resentments turned on herself in anger insecurity and fear
her whole mindset had been poisoned inflamed to the core
only complete reconstruction of Self would yield any success
which is when she decided to stop running away to face the truth
No Luck For The Masses
Reversed into a corner where there is no way out
Rehearsed by a performer who likes to scream and shout
Inverses like a reformer who doesn’t know what he’s talking about
A curse that comes from former earnings not to go without
Multinational corporations that occupy the economic terrain
Unilateral conflagrations that teach you best of all to abstain
Collateral in the conversations that leave you grimacing in pain
Bilateral renunciations that leave the desert drenched in rain
Devastations that demand solutions in order to comply to convention
Remonstrations of absolution that deny the condescension
Aberrations of convolution that are a bone of mass contention
Admirations of the communions of the divine Ressurection
Profoundly seeking absolution from a person bound by grief
Resounding personal solutions that require the blessing of a chief
Confounding immolations that imply the working of a thief
Impounding the convolutions that you want to remain brief
Stupefaction of the masses staring at their screens
Abstraction comes in flashes of animations, adverts and memes
Extraction of the molasses as they’re diluting your dreams
Retraction of the colossus that invokes a high pitched scream
No luck for the poor the broken the tired the vulnerable or maimed
A truck of sure defiance that protesting will remain
The stuck realm of more reliance is a place of unhealthy terrain
While the crux that bore all of this violence leaves you back out in that desert rain.
Copyright The End Elizabeth Moroz
in soft susurrations
and lofty aberrations,
a special specimen
spills out spontaneously,
the wan white winter rose
has withered and wilted,
but its petals wrap themselves
around arousing aromas,
the chosen bits lay frozen
under the glow of snow,
in an eerie, dreary,
ghastly, ghostly graveyard,
where silence sweeps
through weeping willows,
and cawing ravens croak
their curses rambunctiously,
winter honeysuckle climbs
in clusters near the cracked wall,
which some forgotten Pharisee
has planted for its fragrance,
bare twisted, twined branches
of wild wisteria beckon,
uncanny, uncared for tombstones
tell of their travails
to tall, tattered, tired trees,
listening listlessly, lustrelessly,
leaflessly and lifelessly...
a crackling and a rustling,
someone is bustling,
he goes straight to one gloomy tomb,
the cemetery comes alive,
awakened after hibernation,
sniffing the whiff of something different,
he spends time, cleaning the grime,
clearing his cherished love's sepulchre,
and places there a pleasant,
perfume-giving, pale piece ~
a single, white rose
~ her favourite fetish
Pre-puberty years
Playful innocence
Warm ready embrace
Quarrels, aberrations
Rapidly erased
An uncluttered mind
Open, forgiving heart
Reborn each morn anew
Growing up, ego manifests
Taught to be street smart
Testosterone levels high
Feral instincts prevail
In the game of one-upmanship
Need to win our obsession
Heart shrouded in darkness
Conscience whispers in dreams
Upon expending our energy
Recognising earth life transience
We look at dark thought spirals
A Frankenstein we created
Remorseless devouring our soul
We are astonished and dismayed
Looking at these sunken vibrations
We have chosen to stagnate in
To erase negativity from its roots
We stop the flow of turbid thoughts
By shifting our attention inwards
Into the hidden recesses of our heart
In time stretched stillness and silence
Negating the oscillations that surface
Until we become a rippleless lake
Choosing to remain for eternity thus
In timeless time, the false falls away
Fulcrum of our consciousness, space
Our mind-body now an empty shell
Cleansed of erst ego borne dark stains
Reveals from deep within our heart
Our true self shining, bubbling with bliss
Magnetised by the healing light divine
Suffusing all nodes with ecstatic rapture
Boundaries blur between others and us
We feel underlying interconnectedness
Recognising in time that love alone real
All other vibrations but thought constructs
Entrapping our attention in myriad illusions
Plunging our consciousness in delusion
Thus we meld head with heart and love
Twice born here now in the flesh, erect
Earth dream life yet plays on in as ordained
We enact our role in resonation with love
Our vaporised self is immune from harm
Simply because there is no identity within
That that is, is a bliss mist, a living light
Empowered by the sublime breath of God
Thus we inhale vital life force with gratitude
With exhalation in simplistic childlike surrender
16-October-2021
Inheritance
We are guardians of the future are trustees for
posterity though wars galore are our legacy
We leave to our children the genocide in shining armour
destruction that we vowed not to happen again
Its all in the mind and however we feel not involved we
soak up the human condition promote it in our thoughts
At the airport I picked up two of my triplets 23 now and
with one staying behind 23 plus 23 plus 1 = 47
It should have been easy to remember my parking lot number
2 K 47 two kind children and one loved one missing
My age when I met my lover 47 the writers ‘group 47’ maybe
the white death hunger winter in Europe that time
47 days until Christmas and 2 Kinfolk to arrive yet I however
instead chose 2 AK 47’s as my mnemonic automatically
As in 2 angry Kalashnikov guns blazing me back to that dark
gloomy place where my car had been rested for later
What kind of light what remembrance and outlook on life has
been planted like a bomb in my destructive perception
Do I accept when words convoluted connotations sinister
aberrations seep and creep the into the percipience of what I call home
Or must I refuse not to become guilty of killing by proxy
of destroying the heirloom in mind and in spirit
By not standing up to that covert insidious manipulation and
domination taking place in my head I suppose I am guilty as charged
14th November 2016
I
Dead groves of buried flowers,
for the modern to be and to appear ...
and innocence be voice off tuned,
only the voice of noise be flourish.
II
Hallucinate engines loose on the street,
causes the moon, flee, hide, and disappear,
carrying on her breast the night naked sheet ...
The sun aware of this, uncertain that appears.
III
All bucolic geometry has already collapsed
in this infamous madness, villain of success,
even joyful and lively joy are vanished
IV
fearing for such bestial evil intentions,
because only of ghostly aberrations,
so they wear the visors of progress ...!
If love was a forest
I tip toe the climb through its beating heart
There is lost love, the dry deaf leaves
Strewn ground high and spread thick with utility
And there is love yet felt
The young vigorous flora juicing on the branch or vine
Waiting to be plucked or forced fall head over heels
Onto it's destined prey
And there are rocks, dirt and the melange of mayhem
Where love trips and collides with mortal wonder
The unsuspecting hearts and whims of others
Where considerations can be aberrations
Sometimes forcing scrapes and cuts and wounds
That may never heal
Yet to walk through...
To stop at times and gaze along the way
To wander deep into impervious platitudes which lure and mesmerize
To lose the path, endure the anguish
Where light goes missing and no direction leads home
To survive despair, starvation and last rites
Only to be saved by an angel
Made of sunlight and magic elixir
Especially for, and only capable of being consumed by you
...is reason enough to press on.
(10/18/14)
The old dog got a bit long in the once powerful teeth
Crushed his fangs on carrion left by the rest of the pack
Pack of cards delivered by being
Pack of lies suspended in truth
It was time to gather wounds scars and loosening grip
Maybe a new trick here or there on his visit to the tomb
Tomb of words written in anger
Tomb of scripture seeking resolve
He came to settle under Buddha’s levitating canopy
Put a fig in his mouth and tasted life’s intricate journey
Journey of illusion dispersed onto time
Journey of rest conveyed by places of comfort
Just out of sight but in contemplation and mounting doubts
As he minded himself he gazed upon a rusty barrow’s wheel
Wheel of Karma forgotten at peril
Wheel of fortune bestowed by grace
How he wished to be complete and deigned by composure
Fallible imperfect merely normal and at peace nevertheless
Less longing pacified in weary soul
Less adjudication clouding tranquility
When he took of his loin cloth and stood naked and stark
Reflected aberrations and fear a vulture caressed his skin
Skin full of hardship impermanent and mortal
Skin tattooed with ink and smouldering ashes
Prey and predator became one as shadows grew longer
He kissed the scavenger and blessed his parched tongue
Tongue of voices competing for insight
Tongue of deceit croaking temptation
The corroded buggy turned into rickshaw and palanquin
Floated on the river and embraced a path of reprieve
Reprieve from agony depression and void
Reprieve from the suffering of all suffering
He never found that intangible metaphysical wisdom
Abandoned his search for mystical philosopher’s gold
Gold never needed for making honest amends
Gold buried with a pot of tar oozing compassion
21st January 2020
SELF PORTRAIT
To be objective about oneself is hard
All the others’ competing observations
Reluctant to let them into a conclusion
Yet one remains trapped in confusion
Despite all those awkward aberrations
A basic personality cannot be marred
To see a mirror image is just one view
A painted portrait offers yet another
But with no accuracy in introspection
It can always benefit from correction
It’s a close call from one’s twin brother
But for most, they do not have a clue
A photograph may capture one look
But underneath you know it’s unreal
That big fake smile, just for prosperity
As one waved goodbye to all sincerity
Never sure about how one may feel
So many characteristics in the book
A unique tattoo may carry a stigma
Identity may never be quite the match
Under hypnosis, one can be anyone
But as psychoanalysis has finally begun
Even if one is labelled a suspect batch
Who one may be, remains an enigma
First there was oblivion, before emptiness began
Then everything grew from a (dot) and so forth into man
Using reverse extrapolation, large brains, and a plan
Intelligent beings worked this out, as only they can
Logic itself explains two plus two, if you do the math
Belief invokes a loving god, yet threatens words of wrath
Philosophy brings wisdom, but follows different paths
They all leave unanswered questions, and I don’t accept that
Some say why bother, ultimately we will all expire
Life doesn’t need reason, it’s a cosmic quirk we acquired
No creatures besides few humans, actually inquire
To what the fu*k is going on, driving me to great ire
Here on a rocky planet, in no mean region of space
Between infinite voids, our very own goldilocks place
Nowhere else in this universe, does life emit a trace
Two trillion galaxies of numpties, til we showed our face
What makes us so special, all beings are made of stardust
We observe novas and quanta, build weapons that use thrust
Split atoms, launch rockets, measure time, use tools to adjust
The apex of life, not out of choice, more because we must
Our task may seem absurd, whatever compels us is not
A universe seeks a god, and we’re the best eyes its got
Who else figured reality, grew from a tiny (dot)
And we will stop at nothing, to see past fate as our lot
Now we’re becoming gods, creating A.I. in the lab,
A logical next step, for robotic fingers that grab
No doubt will kill and rebel, try putting us on a slab
Exactly like we strung up Jesus, in one foul backstab
Oh who would be man, his intelligence driving us mad
Capable of loving deeds, only every bit as bad
Aberrations by design, or infused by E.T. cads
What the fu*k is going on, again what the fu*k, I add!
05/31/23
W T F got an N/A Doh!